Now Showing at the Orpheum
by Radioactive Nerd
Summary: Based off the first draft script.


**Disclaimer: As said in the summary, the following story is based off of the first draft script of **_**Back to the Future.**_** Respectable authors, of which, are Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale. 1981. All rights reserved. Have a good night. **

* * *

The Orpheum Theater

August 8, 1981

12:39 PM

"Pro, we need cash."

Marty McFly sat on one of the worktables of the lab and went over their profits for the month. It wasn't pretty. They hadn't made anything over ten bucks for the past three weeks. If things kept going like this, Marty and Professor Brown would have to close down and find other employment. Marty didn't want to work at Burger King and neither did Professor Brown.

"I know Marty," Professor Brown said from across the room. His head was in his hands as he sat on his small cot, mentally exhausted. "I know. I know you need money for your new A-track. I know I need money for that component. The deal I obtained is about to expire. Not to mention that our VCR is fractured beyond possible repair. Those don't come cheap."

"No shit." Marty said, "I guess we better brainstorm on ways to make some extra dough ASAP." Professor Brown glanced at him, confused. "As Soon As Possible. An acronym."

Professor Brown nodded. Silence came upon the lab that was nearly as heavy as a titanium sheet. Marty stared at the profits chart again and bit his lip. The professor didn't look like he was brainstorming. From Marty's guess, the guy looked pretty morbid. It had been a bad month for not only profits.

"We could raise our prices," Marty suggested. His words echoed in the silence but the professor continued to look at the floor. Marty kept going. "How about changing our selling stations? The school quad is not exactly a prime business area in the summer. I could find another spot that's just as low-key but more lucky."

Professor Brown's mood had not changed. He lied back on his cot and rubbed his eyes. The wrinkles on his face became as deep as a moon crator, making the professor look twice as old as he already was. He stared into space in that way of pure blankness. Marty had come to accept it but that didn't stop him from trying to lighten Professor Brown up.

"Or we could pose as fifth grade girls," Marty said. "Get some leg warmers and ponytails. I hear selling counterfeit girl scout cookies brings in a pretty good sum. So does kidnapping the mayor but we're out of duct tape."

A big hearty laugh escaped Professor Brown. One of those laughs that could be incredibly infectious. Marty smiled as the professor sat up from the cot and wiped a tear from his eye. It was nice whenever Professor Brown lightened up for even the briefest second. As long as Marty had known the professor, the guy had been wound-up tight almost twenty-four/seven. His laugh was rare but when you heard it, it could make you appreaciate even the lamest joke that caused it.

"But seriously," Marty said. "We need an idea."

Professor Brown's laugh stopped as if he had run out of batteries. The old man shot up from his makeshift bed and, with his natural wide eyes, looked at the seventeen-year-old.

"Do you know how many new films we have obtained?" the professor asked. As Marty looked in his eyes he noticed a small spark. The spark of an idea.

"Six," Marty answered. "Why?"

Professor Brown didn't answer right away. Instead he walked over to their bootlegging station. It was more of Marty's table than the professor's. Since Marty spent more time there working than he did. The table had several drawers, one of which had a lock on it. Professor Brown reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a somewhat rusty key ring.

"Have you sold any yet?" He asked as he stuck the key into the tumbler. Turning the key, the drawer easily slid open. A collection of black tapes, labeled with Marty's thin handwriting, filled the space. Six new ones exactly.

"Nope," Marty said. What was Pro getting at?

"Perfect!" the professor exclaimed. He started pulling out the new tapes and stacking them on the table in a small tower. Marty could see that he was smiling and the teen jumped off the work table.

"Pro what are you getting at?" Marty asked and reached for the tapes. Professor Brown smacked his hand away.

"No questions just yet, Marty." Professor Brown said, "Now I want you to go downstairs and check every theater for a functioning projector. It doesn't matter which theater. Only one with capability of actually being a movie theater. Also, look for any film strips that survived. I suspect there should be a few lying around."

"Got it," Marty said and hurried for the door. His Nikes stomped down the stairs as he ran to the first floor.

The lobby was the same crimson red as it always had been. The kind of red that looked like someone had hacked to death the candy counter worker and stained every single thing. Marty walked over to the counter, cringing at any little noise in the eerie lobby. There must have been three layers of dust caked onto the old concession counter. His hand and butt became covered with the stuff too after Marty pole-vaulted himself over the counter. Fossilized Hershey bars and partially nibbled licorice whips lay on the shelves. A thin but long strand of a cobweb was stretched across the candy. Marty followed the wispy cobweb to where it ended, covering up another piece of the theater's history. The piece of past was red and gold and had a clear glass casing with a "P" written on it. P? Wiping some of the dust off, Marty revealed a few more letters on the glass casing spelling: POPCORN.

"Excellent," Marty muttered. If they could clean this thing up, then the concession counter could actually bring in a few extra bucks. Although, they would have to replace most of the candy. Marty glanced down at the boxes of Milk Duds that were still stacked and organized. Tearing open a box, he plopped one of the candies in his mouth. Still good. A little funny tasting but…

"Blech!" The Milk Dud bounced on the floor and the spider on it fled under the shelf. Marty wiped off his tongue with his tee shirt. Yes, they would _definitely_ have to replace the candy.

The actual theaters in the Orpheum had not been used since the sixties. Marty entered theater one (the only one that didn't have a rat colony urbanizing under the seats). He walked past the rows of moth-eaten seats that didn't even have cup holders. One (just one) white mouse sat on a seat, chewing on the red fabric. Marty squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dark. At the back of the room, was a wooden door with EMPLOYEES ONLY printed on it. It led to a small staircase which led to the projection room. It was cobweb city up there. Dark also. Marty got around just fine until his knee made contact with a carboard box. Then his feet were off the ground, his arms were in the air, and he fell hard against something cold and metal.

He rubbed his sore shoulder as he discovered what he had landed against. Turns out, it was just what he was looking for. It was unusually big but Professor Brown had told him once that most of the projectors of the Orpheum's hay day were that size. Marty ran a hand over the nose of the projector and looked into it. No cracks. He checked the rest of the projector and, besides from being dirty, it was in pretty good shape. Just to make sure, Marty fitted one of the film wheels in and flipped the switch. The machine made a wheezing sort of noise as it did its job. Light and sound flooded into the theater and Marty peeked through the small opening in the wall to see the moving picture that had come to life. Outside on the screen, a scene of black and white played to the non-existent audience. A man with curly hair was having a fast-paced conversation with a woman that had giant eyes. Some lame romance movie his mom had seen fifty times, Marty guessed. Well, at least the thing worked.

After searching for other film strips and finding just scraps, Marty left. He ran all the way through the screen room, across the lobby, up the stairwell, and back into the lab. Professor Brown was organizing their tapes and jumped when Marty shut the stairwell door.

"Don't startle me!" Professor Brown snapped, his hand on the cotton fabric of his chest. Marty was still sucking in air from his sprint.

"Sorry Pro," Marty panted. He gulped and finally caught his breath. "Theater number one is working. No extra movies, though. I found a popcorn machine but it needs a serious cleaning. I can pick up some kernals for it at my house. We're pretty well stocked with Jiffy Pop."

The professor was half listening and half inspecting something at another work table. Marty waited for a response but the professor continued to seep deeper into his own thinking. It depleted Marty's patience whenever the guy became lost in his own head. It was all the teen could do to say

"Pro?"

Professor Brown flinched at being suddenly drawn back into reality. He turned back to Marty and held up one of their tapes.

"I'll take care of this," He said and then pointed to the door. "You go take care of the necessities needed."

"Hold on professor," Marty said, arms crossed and feet not moving from the floor. "I'm not getting anything or going anywhere until you tell me what you're scheming up. How am I supposed to know what to get if you don't tell me anything?"

"All right, all right." Professor Brown said. "Here's my idea…"

0 0 0

His skateboard came to a stop only after hitting the chain fence of the local Seven Eleven. Marty kicked the skateboard up and carried it into the store. During the school year, kids would literally swarm here after three. Then the summer would come and everyone had better things to do with the rain gone. Marty often used the back alley as a selling spot since there was a hole in the fence which people could sneak through. On his afternoons there, he'd stick a red shoelace on the fence so those looking for the new Speilburg films would know he was in. Today, though, Marty needed to be in the gas station store instead of behind it.

Marty grabbed half a dozen packages of Twizzlers and a jumbo-sized box of Whoppers. As he moved along the double aisle of candy, he grabbed more candy bars, gum, and sour chews. Most of them fell out of his hands. Marty knelt down to pick them up but ended up losing his grip on all the candy. It splashed onto the ground in a wave of packaged sugar. In the corner of Marty's eye, he could see that the clerk was peeking over the aisle suspiciously. _Yeah,_ Marty thought. _Like I'd resort to stealing candy for a living. _

"Yo Marty, what are you doing?"

A pair of blue and white Nikes appeared in front of the candy mess. Marty glanced up at the skinny teenage twig that was one of his friends.

"Hey Donaldson," Marty said. Donaldson knelt down to help him pick up the candy. One of the Reese's cups was smooshed so Marty kicked it under the shelf. Donaldson followed Marty to the counter, talking all the way.

"So what are you doing this weekend? And what's with all the sugar? You having a party without me?"

"Sort of," Marty said as he filed through his wallet for a twenty. "Listen, me and Professor Brown got an event for tomorrow night. Up at the Orpheum. You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah it's that decrepit place on Monroe Ave," Donaldson said, scratching his bushy head of dark hair. He glanced at the cashier girl and then lowered his voice. "Will this 'event' involve any skin flicks?"

"Carrie," Marty said as he picked up the plastic bag.

"I'm there," Donaldson said. An annoying beeping sounded from his wrist. He pinched a button on his watch and groaned. "Shit! I've gotta go. My mom's got this whole family picnic thing going on but I can squeeze out of it tomorrow. What time?"

"Starts at eight, ends at midnight." Marty answered as he headed for the door. He stopped halfway through. "Hey, spread this around. We need to get as many people to come to this thing. Tell 'em the time and place."

"You got it McFly," Donaldson said, smiling.

0 0 0

"Marty why are you messing up my kitchen?"

Marty brought his head out of the cupboard, pausing his search for the Jiffy Pop. He turned to see his mother standing in the entryway of the kitchen. Hands on hips and the wrinkles under her eyes creating deeper lines than a sidewalk crack. Since Marty was six years old, his mother had worked two extra shifts on Thursdays. Therefore, after a whole fourteen hours of dealing with "_people_" as she would say when she got home, Marty knew that he had to walk on eggs around her.

"Nothing mom," Marty said as he opened another cupboard.

"Nothing, _right_." Marty's mother said, kicking off her heels. "Why don't you just tell me what you're looking for, before my kitchen is turned upside down."

"Jiffy Pop," Marty muttered and watched his mother open a cupboard he had inspected two minutes ago. She pulled out the familiar round aluminum-wrapped item and tossed it at her son. Marty caught it but kept looking at the cupboard.

"I need more," Marty said. The words, even as innocent as they were said, made the atmosphere of the kitchen three times denser.

"More?" His mother stated, eyes wide. The wrinkles flattened, becoming two-dimensional on her chubby face. "More? What could you possibly need more than one for?"

"I'm gonna watch a few movies over at Matt's house," Marty said, in the golden perfect answer tone. "He put me in charge of food."

"Fine, fine," Marty's mother said and went into the living room. Marty heard her throw her purse at the couch. _Aw man, I don't have time for this… _

Marty collected all the Jiffy Pop he could find (six, they'd need more) and some bottles of soda. There were only two bottles which Marty thought he could replace. They were both regular and he decided he needed to pick up some diet ones. He put them all on the table and tried to think of something big enough to hold all of it. The beach cooler in the garage was the only thing that came to mind.

"You know, Marty, it's almost September," Marty heard his mother say as he went to the garage. "You're going to be a senior and then go off to college. Or to New York like your brother…"

"Mom I don't have time for this," Marty said as he dropped the cooler on the kitchen table.

"…and I just think you should spend a little more time with your father and I." His mother continued, "You've been running around town all summer. I don't know what job you've got but, combined with your little band, it's taking up too much from your time at home."

"First off: it's not a _little _band," Marty stated as he dragged the cooler toward the front door. Even though his mother was talking about quality family time, he knew she wasn't about to get up from the couch and stop him. Not on a Thursday. "Second off: if I did't have a job, then how am I supposed to get out of this hellhole town anyway?"

He left on that note.

Monroe Avenue

August 9, 1981

8:04 PM

The scuffing and muttering of the group of local teenagers filled the silence of Monroe Avenue. They were led by Marty, whom was walking in front of all of them with Donaldson at his side. For the past half hour, Marty had been trying to keep the attention on where they were going and what they were going to do. But it was hard with seven or eight people repeatedly interrupting him with questions like:

"McFly, why ya leading us all the way around this ghost street?"

"Is there gonna be free popcorn at this place?"

"Donaldson said there's skin flicks. Are there going to be skin flicks?"

"Are there any science documentaries?"

"Who cares about documentaries! I have asthma! What about the damn asbestos?"

"All right! All right! Quiet!" Martys shouted, stopping them all. "Everyone, like Donaldson told you hours ago: my business partner and I'm having a marathon in the Orpheum theater. The building right behind me. Phil, the closest thing to a skin flick is Sissy Spacik's movie. Jeff, the popcorn is NOT free. Don't even try pocketing some. Tom, no, there aren't any documentaries tonight. School's over, man. And, Sasha, you better of brought your inhalor because this place hasn't been checked for that stuff since Beaver Cleaver was in third grade."

With that, Marty pulled out a weathered tin box and held it out.

"Entry five bucks a head," Marty said and received an uproar of groans. "Hey, it runs till midnight. That's a good deal." The teenagers coughed the money up nonetheless. Their crisp currency emblazoned with Honest Abe was crammed and collected in the tin. All except for a thick haired girl tagging along in the back. Marty stared at her, shaking the cash box in anticipation until he recognized her. The memory of the pool party from two weeks ago struck his brain. The girl in the purple two piece that he kept swimming by. They talked but what was her name? Stacy? Sissy? Sandra? Suzy!

"How's about an I.O.U?" Marty suggested, smiling at the Suzy. She smiled back, one of those smiles that drove Marty absolutely crazy.

"Uh McFly?" Phil's voice brought Marty back to the entrance of the Orpheum. Marty pocketed his cash tin, cast another smile at Suzy, and then pulled open the theater's door.

Marty and Professor Brown had done an excellent job fixing up the lobby. The carpets were cleaned thanks to Marty making a second trip to his house and borrowing the vaccuum so most of the dust was gone. Glass casings of posters were sprayed with Windex and polished. There was even working light bulbs that the professor had powered by moving his self-invented generator downstairs. Even the discovered popcorn machine was completely disinfected. As Marty headed over to the concession counter, he started to think that the lobby was cleaner than the lab.

The crowd of invited customers wandered around the crimson room. Some were talking together, first timers absolutely exhilarated at taking part in an illegal activity. Some were wandering around, reminiscing about "the good ole' days of movie-going yore". Some were making out and some were checking their watches. Marty organized the boxes of recently bought candy in the transparent counter. By the time he looked up, a small line had formed.

"Bag of popcorn please," asked one older man. Marty turned to the popcorn machine. Golden popped kernals bounced around to the mountain of white puffs . Marty took a small plastic beach shovel he found in the garage and scooped up a full load of popcorn. Red popcorn bags were still under the counter and Marty filled up one and handed it to the older man.

"Buck fifty," Marty said. He watched the older man pull out the money from a nylon wallet. Once again the money went straight into his tin cash box. "Anybody else want popcorn?" The line morphed into two for popcorn and candy. Marty filled about twenty red bags with popcorn and exchanged dozens of Reese's cups until he decided it was time for an announcement.

"Attention! Hey!" Marty shouted but everyone kept on talking. He put his fingers to his lips and blew an ear-piercing whistle that had been taught in cub scouts. "Okay everyone, our marathon will be in Theater One and Theater One only. File in there and find your seats. No pushing. The show will start soon."

The crowd squeezed through the small door to Theater One. Marty breathed a sigh and hopped over the counter. He walked across the now quiet lobby, with the creepiness restored. Inside the first theater, the lights had been turned down and shadows of people were shifting along the rows of seats. As Marty made his way to the EMPLOYEES ONLY door, he overheard Donaldson yelp loudly as he fell onto the sticky floor. Maybe they should of mopped the aisles too…

"Pro you up here?" Marty called up the small stairway. Rustling and muttered curses drifted down the stairs and the teen followed them to their source. The professor sat on a stool, trying to attach a film wheel to the projector. Marty watched him struggle, finding it oddly funny. _He can build one of those from scratch but can't load it by himself. _

Marty took the film wheel out of the professor's hands and loaded it into place. He flicked the switch and the projector came to life with clinks and hums. Professor Brown eyed Marty and then glanced away quickly.

"We all set?" Marty asked, trying to hide his urge to smile.

"Affirmative," Professor Brown said and looked out into the audience. "You better get out down there and inform them the show is about to start."

Marty did just that and walked up in front of the giant screen. Everyone is seated and, judging by the head count, every seat was filled. _Mission accomplished_, Marty thought to himself. He clapped his hands a few times to gain the attention of the theater.

"Listen up!" Marty shouted to the crowd. "Our show's about to start-"

"Boo!" Donaldson yelled and tossed a handful of gummy bears at Marty. Their friends broke out in adolescent laughter and tossed some more candy. Marty dodged most of it and shot the cackling Donaldson a glare.

"Okay, okay," Marty said. "This is the last time I'm gonna interrupt. Just thought you all would like to know that fire exits are to the left but the odds of an actual inferno are only eighty percent. Enjoy the show."

Donaldson's cackling stopped along with the rest of the noise.

"Enjoy the show," Marty said and ducked out of the way of the movie. He stayed ducked until he was all the way to the exit door. Behind him, the movie had already commenced rolling. The volley ball scene had ended and the locker room frolicking appeared on the weathered screen. Sweet music of Pino Donaggio accompanied the scene on the screen. Marty took the time to watch a half-naked girl frolic across the steamy shower room. Her perky young breasts bobbing in slight slow-mo. "Now _that _is movie magic," Marty added as he pushed open the door back into the lobby.

Four more people had arrived in the lobby. Two adults, two teenagers. Marty acknowledged them with a nod before getting behind the counter. Again he opened his tin box and collected the entrance fee. After loading the new customers with popcorn and other goodies, Marty sat down and counted up the profits. Seventy dollars so far. Only a hundred more and that VCR was as good as theirs.

0 0 0

Professor Brown tried not to fall asleep as he watched the movie through the hole in the wall. Falling asleep during TV programs and movies had become ritual. The television in the lab often lulled him to sleep after a draining project. His crinkled eyelids felt extra heavy as the professor sat back in his folding chair. To distract himself from the tiring movie, the professor grabbed a magazine issue he had brought downstairs with him. _Popular Mechanics_ had been one of his favorite recreational readings since his teenage hood. Last night, he had flagged a page that lamented on laser technology of the twentieth century. Something he had wanted to get a better understanding of.

Still feeling his eyelids droop, Professor Brown turned to the dirty window of the projection room. It was relatively small but allowed him a view of the street in front of the Orpheum. Looking out, he saw the usual dark street with trash blowing around. Nothing peculiar. Nothing peculiar at all. Just the same old image of boarded up shops in which homeless bums hung around. Staring at the bums made the professor wonder whether or not he was a homeless bum too. But the thought was quickly replaced with a sudden observation.

A change in the scenery happened as two beams of light lit up the cracked tar. Professor Brown squinted his eyes to see a new car drive up the street. That wouldn't have worried the professor as much if the car hadn't parked right in front of the Orpheum. Or if the car wasn't black and white and had a… odd antennae? Roof ornament? No, a siren on top. Or even if a uniformed man hadn't stepped out, lit a cigarette, and started for the entrance.

"Dammit," Professor Brown muttered and slammed the windowsill with his fist. It figured that something like this would happen _just _as everything was going smoothly.

0 0 0

Marty was still shoveling out popcorn. And still answering dumb questions.

"Yes only one theater," Marty repeated to the freckled man. "Theater one over there. But you'll have to sit on the floor or stand because the seats are packed."

The freckled man grumbled as a response and picked up his snacks. All he left behind was the buck fifty and a soda spill. Rolling his eyes, Marty crouched down to find some sort of rag to clean the mess. When he located one, he slapped it on the mess so it would absorb it. Looking around the empty lobby, he stuck his fist in the popcorn machine and pulled out a handful. The sound of the door being opened made Marty swallow the whole mouthful of popcorn.

"Welcome to the Orphe-" Marty stopped after he looked at the new customer. But as far as Marty knew, no customer would show up at a bootleg movie marathon (in a foreclosed theater) wearing a full policeman outfit. At least not a customer with a sane sense of humor.

A real cop.

Oh shit.

_Keep it cool, McFly_. Keep it cool. Rule Number One for when an official shows up. Play it cool: be innocent. Marty found his arm casually wiping down the counter. He kept ninety percent of his attention on wiping the counter. The other ten percent on the cop. Whom (from Marty's hearing) was just walking around the lobby, blowing out smoke as he approached the counter. A tiny prick of mere fear occurred in Marty's gut as the shadow of the cop reached the counter. A throat cleared itself and a hefty hand knocked on the counter's wood.

"Officer," Marty greeted, his voice sounding ten years older than it was. "I don't remember calling 911. Is there a problem?"

Judging by the abscense of an answer, Marty guessed this cop was not the jolly kind. Plus, the officer had one of those scratchy Paul Bunyan beards. Except that it had bits of pizza sauce in it. He even had the red nose to match. A coffee stain on the pocket of his blue shirt caught Marty's gaze. The only place in town that had coffee available at this time of night was right down the street. How long had this guy been patrolling Monroe Ave?

"Name, young man."

"Marty McFly, 17, minor." Classic explanation but said a little too quickly. The officer stared at him. More specifically, Marty's hand which was still wiping the counter furiously. Marty stared down at his hand and dropped the rag. The officer's eyes narrowed anyway.

"So Marty McFly, age 17 and minor, what is your business being at a deserted movie theater on a Friday night, working at a candy counter that hasn't had a sweet tooth since 1966?"

The start of a sweat formed on Marty's forehead. _Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it cool. _It was no use. The harder the officer stared at him, the further Marty lapsed into nervousness. A rare episode in which the 'play it cool' mode of his brain switched into the deadly 'uh, well, uh' mode.

"Uh, well, uh…" Marty stammered.

"Aha! There you are!"

Both the officer and Marty whipped their heads around. There stood Professor Brown, eyes narrowed and looking like he had been searching for Marty for five years. Marty stared at the professor, utterly confused.

"Do you know how much trouble you're in?" Professor Brown demanded as he walked behind the counter. "Do you know not only how much trouble you're in with me, but how much trouble you're in with your mother? Honest to God! I come over to enjoy a family barbecue and you go and get your dear mother upset, run away, and send me all over this damn town looking for you!"

"This is your son?" the officer asked.

"Nephew," Professor Brown answered, still harboring the angry look at Marty. Marty had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't burst out in hysterics. "And I see he forgot to take his medication too. Poor kid was born with a disorder within his sensory neurons. Half the time without the perscriptions, he cannot even tell where the hell he is."

Professor Brown flicked Marty's right ear to demonstrate. Marty whirled to and fro, acting as if the flick had come out of nowhere.

"Jesus…" the officer muttered. Marty could barely believe it. The cop was actually eating this up! "But what about this place… it's all lit up."

"Carl did you mess around with the generator?" Professor Brown said and shook his shaggy white head. "So sorry officer, he's very interested in electricity. Probably couldn't help himself."

The officer stared at Marty and the professor for a long time.

"Get him home to his mother," the officer said and with that, left. Neither the professor or Marty dared to move. They listened to the officer shut the door, get in his car, and drive out of the graveyard that was Monroe Avenue. After he was long gone, Marty let himself release his laughter.

"Carl?" He asked after regaining his composure. "You let your pretend sister name me _Carl_?"

Professor Brown said nothing. He went over to the door and opened it a crack, hunched down, and looked out.

"But anyway, nice charade Pro." Marty complimented, "You showed up at record time. I was about to cave."

"We've got two hours left until midnight," Professor Brown said, reading his wrist watch. He walked past Marty and toward Theater One. A chorus of boos was happening on the inside of the theater. "Man the lobby for anyone else. I better go take care of that blasted projector…"

Marty hopped up on the counter and grabbed another handful of popcorn. He reached way under the counter and grasped the rectangle hunk that was his A-Track. Not remembering which tape he had shoved in, he hit play and turned the volume up. The toe of his Nike tapped the floor as the rock music carried Marty's attention well into the midnight hour.


End file.
